Welded Love
by StrawburryLips
Summary: Teribeth Rodriguez wasn't always the most normal one in the bunch with her strange sense of humor and wild red hair. Then there's Leo Valdez the third wheel in the bunch, the odd man out. Can one simple girl change all that?


Chapter I

"_Contra_!" I cursed as I cut myself on an old rusty nail.

"Mom!" I called as I stood up from my crouching position. I grabbed my finger, with my good hand of course, and applied pressure on the wound. Something you learn when you're as accident prone as me is how to take care of booboos. Yeah, I admit it. I'm a klutz.

"_Que paso_?" She yelled as, what I think was, jogging up the stairs. Before she came in the room I put I finger in my mouth in an attempt to keep the blood from spilling onto the recently acquired floors. Moving day, perfect for an accident prone girl like myself to take part in. Yay!

"_Mija, _what did I tell you? Biting your nails is such a nasty habit no boy is going to like that! _Ay! Porfavor, mi vida!_ Stop." Mom pleaded as she fussed and moved some of the boxes around giving this chaotic mess **some** type of order.

"_Mami!_" there that stopped her fussing. "You talk like I'm going to find a guy and go get married with him five minutes after we meet and the only thing he'll know about me is how I look and how I constantly bite my nails, according to you. I cut myself with a nail, I think, that's somewhere on the floorboards. I was trying not to get blood all over the floor so I sucked on the cut." At this she made a face like the famous 'Scream' painting.

"Oh, see now that's different! Let me see, _mi amor_." She said as she walked towards me with a bit of concern etched in her voice. No matter how often I tend to hurt myself my mom always manages to have some type of concerned expression on her delicate features.

"Now what was I going to ask you?" I continued, asking myself aloud snapping my fingers. _Right, left, right. Snap… snap… snap…_

"Don't ask me…" she said drifting off. I suddenly remembered.

"Oh! Yeah! I was going to ask if you knew where the Band-Aids are." I said.

"Band-Aids… Band-Aids…" She kept mumbling to herself trying to recall what box they were in and where that box was located. While she mumbled she snapped her fingers just like I had done not too long ago.

"Aha!" she jumped and when she landed twisted so she now faced the stairs, pointing with both 'imaginary finger guns', "Follow me, young Jedi!" She jumped once more but this time as soon as her small feet hit the ground she raced off to the stairs.

"Sure thing, Grand Master Yoda." I called back, doubting that she heard me.

By now I was totally used to this type of behavior. After all I am her daughter and she is my mother. We were very similar on many levels, even when it came down to personality. Granted they weren't exactly the same but they came close enough.

I took large strides, well as big as my short legs could go, to keep up with her so I wouldn't have to trip and end up in the ER with broken bones, again, for running indoors.

"Hold up, _Madre!_" I hollered down the stairs, "I'm trying not to get killed here!" I heard her giggle and say something about Chubacca outrunning Mandelorians and Mace Windu fending off some type of strange creature that I didn't quite hear, with nothing but his trusty purple lightsaber.

"You're such a dork." I called out to her. She just threw her head back and laughed.

"'Course I am. I'm your mother." She called back still running to god knows where.

We went through the box maze that was the living room. We got lost a few times. Getting stuck, having to turn back more times that I can count with my pigies and fingers. By some miracle we made it through the catastrophe that somehow relates to the after math of Katrina. We walked through the, what I think was the dining room. It had a coffee table and three bean bag chairs orange, green, blue_**. **_Strangechoice of colors_._

We then made it to the kitchen. Mom walked over to a box labeled 'Medicine' boldly spaced in all capitals. I man's writing. She then took out a set of keys out of her pockets and broke through the tape.

She hummed some type of up-beat, fast melody that could only be identified as Spanish music. While she hummed she searched through the box for what I like to call my survival kit. I leaned on the counter island waiting for her to find it. She motioned for me to sit on one of the old stools and I did as I was told. I drummed my good hand on the table along to the rhythm of moms humming. I was pretty decent and bobbed my head to the beat. She looked up and smiled at me. It was times like these that I loved the relationship mom and I had. It didn't need many words, no effort. It was just natural.

She finally found the clear blue Red Cross First Aid Kit. The only reason I've made it so far in life is because of that. I knew how to clean and take care of the cut but she was my mom. The one who refused to be grown up 100-percent, 50-percent of the time. So she ignored the fact that I could take care of myself and started working on the cut. Don't get me wrong I love when she does ignore the fact that I'm independent, it makes me feel like a little kid all over again, in a good way of course. Thinking of the times when we would go to Abuela and Abuelo's house up by the beach. When they would have their weekly parties that included practically the whole family, it was an extremely big family. How Abuelo would take me aside every morning after breakfast and teach me how to play the guitar and other simple instruments that were found in all types of Spanish songs. How Abuela would let me help around the kitchen. Well as much as a 6-year-old could help in a room with fire and pointy objects all around. How my youngest uncle and older cousins would teach me how to catch the small fish by the shore. How after dinner when the adults where sitting by the bonfire, as they shared and reminisced old forgotten memories. They would teach me how to wrestle and all types of boyish games. Abuela didn't approve but Abuelo just told her it was part of life. How the following generations never follow in the previous' footsteps but they make their own and learn from the others' mistakes.

A sharp stinging brought me back to reality. A sharp intake of breath was all you heard from me. I never liked those disinfecting wipes.

"Sorry." Mom said softly then blowing on the cut lightly.

"It's okay. I've had worse." She laughed at that. She knew as well as I did how many times I've tripped over my own feet or managed to punch myself in the face, don't ask it's a **really** long and embarrassing story.

"So when is he coming back?" I asked mom who was not putting a large blue power ranger Band-Aid on the cut. She kissed it and stopped humming.

"Sometime within the hour. _Porque_?" She responded.

I responded with a look that said 'You know why'. She sighed cleaning up the brand new mess?

"I don't see why you decide to socialize with them." Mom said as she started looking for the cleaning supplies.

"Because they are my family. Now, please behave?" I pleaded with the woman who raised me. The one that was just as stubborn as I.

"_No te prometo nada_ but I'll try." She finally replied while disinfecting the countertop.

It was not long before the crunch of wheels was heard on the gravel outside. We were in the kitchen mom and I talking like we always do. She was doing the dishes and I sat on a stool facing her back. When she heard the crunching of gravel along with an engine she stopped for a millisecond and tensed up and just as fast as she did this she was back to normal. Through the window above the sink you could see a man on a black fast looking motorcycle. He had dark jeans and a black bike jacket with lines starting on his chest and went down the sleeves.

"_Porfavor?_" I pleaded for the last time, reminding her to play nice.

She just waved me off with bubbled dish water. I just laughed. There was a knock at the front door. I walked out of the kitchen down the hall passing the mess that was supposed to be a living room and finally getting to the den and then the door. My butterflies did not subside as I got closer and closer to the door. Oh no they did not; they just simply multiplied and grew three times in size. Then I opened the door and a man I had not seen sense I was six-years-old. The only father figure I've ever known...

* * *

><p><strong>A.N. - <strong>So as you noticed there are some things in spanish. Yes I am a spanish speaker and I do realize that some of it won't be proper spanish considering that different countries have different words for different things. If you want a clear translation of what the italics say just feel free to ask. This story is a Leo story just for those who were wondering but I just wanted to make it a little different. It might go along with the books it might not, depends where this wild imagination of mine takes me. I won't update the story regularly. Also keep in mind that I'm not the most experienced writer and if you have any feed back what so ever just feel free to express yourselves. Also you probably noticed, I don't really follow the rules of grammar as often as I should nor do I know how to spell very well so bear with me.

Love & Rockets,

Shmecko


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